


Shamrock Shenanigans

by southsidewrites



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Comedy, Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Leprechauns, Love, Magic, One Shot, Romance, St. Patrick's Day, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, flirty banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-18 19:44:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/southsidewrites/pseuds/southsidewrites
Summary: A collection of St. Patrick’s Day Drabbles featuring Sweet Pea, Fangs Fogarty, Toni Topaz, Reggie Mantle, Jughead Jones, and Betty Cooper.  Includes romance, comedy, chaos, leprechauns, and more!Table of Contents with each drabble's ship/pairing in the note before Chapter 1.





	1. "Should have stayed home."

**Author's Note:**

> Table of Contents:  
> 1\. "Should've stayed home." (Sweet Pea x Reader)  
> 2\. "What have we done?" (Sweet Pea & Fangs)  
> 3\. "You can rub me for luck." (Sweet Pea x Reader)  
> 4\. Luck of the Irish (Sweet Pea & Fangs & Toni)  
> 5\. "But I _am_ wearing green!" (Sweet Pea x Jubilee Jones & Fangs)  
> 6\. "Why exactly do you need to find four-leaf clovers at 2AM?" (Bughead & Sweet Pea)  
> 7\. "I can't believe I ended up in leprechaun jail...and with you of all people." (Fangs x Reader)  
> 8\. "On St. Patrick's Day, I pretend to be Irish, just like on Christmas I pretend to be good." (Reggie Mantle x Lydia Boyd)

“Please don’t make me go, Betty,” you whined as your friend threw handfuls of green clothes at you. “You know I hate huge parties like this.”

“But it’ll be so much fun!” she argued. “Now put on something green unless you want every creepy within arm’s reach making a grab at your ass.”

You rolled your eyes, begrudgingly swapping out your plain black t-shirt for a green one with a giant four-leaf clover on it.  The simple shirt gave you an impressive amount of cleavage, and you gave Betty a skeptical look. “Seriously, Cooper? This one?”

She shrugged innocently, biting back a smirk. “Hey, it’s been a while since you’ve been on a date, and I’m just trying to help you out.”

Shaking your head, you finished adorning yourself in tacky green clothes and gave her a look. “Fine, let’s do this.”

* * *

 

When you got to the bar, it was absolutely packed.  Every inch of the room was full of people, and all of them were wearing tacky shades of green.  There were even a few people in leprechaun costumes of varying quality in the crowd.  Biting back a groan, you made your way to the bar, only to realize that you’d lost Betty somewhere along the way.

“What can I getcha?” the bartender asked, flashing a bright grin.

You had to swallow a judgmental look when you saw the bright green crop top she was wearing— _she’s just doing her job_ , you reminded yourself.

“Whatever the cheap beer is,” you replied, leaning against the bar top and pulling back quickly when you felt the sticky surface.

She returned a moment later with a green beer in a plastic cup, and you slid her some cash.

You made a face and took a big sip of the green beer, trying to shake off your grumpiness and look for your missing friend.

“Aw, don’t tell me it’s that bad,” a low voice said.  The man who had slid into place next to you was tall, dressed in a plain green t-shirt and black jeans.  His dark hair was messy, and your eyes were drawn to the snake tattoo on his neck.  You had to fight to keep your jaw from dropping.

“No, I—um— _fuck_ , I’m just not a huge fan of bars on St. Patrick’s Day.”

His lips curved into a smirk, and your heart thudded against your chest. “Really?  Why’s that?”

You sighed, taking another gulp of beer. “Well, it’s too damn loud and crowded, for one,” you started.  You took another sip of beer. “And everyone’s drunk by like noon, which is absolutely dumb.  Oh, and everything’s just so dirty—like, the bar’s _sticky_.”

He made a face, and you couldn’t quite discern what it was.  “Anything else?” he bit back a chuckle.

“Oh, yeah.” You were on a roll now, and you had almost finished the green beer. “The guys also get so much worse.  I mean, really, the whole pinching thing is just a goddamn excuse for guys to be even creepier than usual.  And this bar’s already got a rep for being creepy.  Like, I’d never be here if it weren’t for my friend Betty dragging me along—apparently, her boyfriend really likes it or something.”

“Oh really?” He gestured to your empty cup and signaled the bartender. “Let me grab you another one.”

“No, that’s fine, I—”

“Really, I’ve got it.” His dark eyes flashed with amusement as the same crop-topped bartender brought you another green beer.  You noticed that he didn’t have one for himself.

You were just about to ask for his name when all of a sudden Betty was next to you again, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug.

“I thought I lost you!” she exclaimed, the smell of alcohol on her breath.  Her eyebrows waggled when she saw who you had been talking to. “Oh, and I see you’ve met Sweet Pea—he’s the owner of the bar.”

Your jaw dropped as he held out his hand to shake yours.  Your words ran through your head, and you cringed. _I’d never be here if it weren’t for my friend Betty dragging me along._

He laughed at your expression, the sound cutting through your dazed embarrassment. “Nice to meet you.”

“Oh my God, I’m so fucking sorry, I—”

“It’s fine.” He glanced around. “I don’t think I’d be here if I didn’t have to be right now, either.”

Betty disappeared again, shouting something about Jughead, and you could feel a hot blush sitting in your cheeks with no sign of fading.

“I really am sorry, I—”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it.” He smirked, his eyes running over you in a way that made your heart race. “Want a different drink?  Those green beers are the worst.”

Your lips curved into a soft grin. “I’d like that.”


	2. "What have we done?"

Glancing at Fangs to assure the distraction was working, Sweet Pea crept around the bar.  Toni was pouring drinks, slinging green beer and mint shots at the speed of light.  She hadn’t seen him yet—every time she was about to glance back at him, Fangs would ask her another random question.

Sweet Pea took another cautious step, staying low beneath the bar as he reached out in front of him, his hand only inches from Toni’s exposed waist.

Fangs smirked, covering it by lifting his beer to his lips.  Subtly, he nodded, and Sweet Pea sprang into action.

With one hand, he pinched Toni hard in the side, using the other hand to push away from the bar and start sprinting the other way.

“Goddamnit, Sweet Pea!” she snapped, trying to slap him.  “What the hell, dude?  I’m wearing green!”

“That’s not green!” he shouted back, already halfway out the door with Fangs. “It’s olive!”

“Olive _green_ , you idiot!”

Fangs and Sweet Pea didn’t even slow down to listen to her response.  Instead, Fangs punched Sweet Pea playfully on the shoulder, both of them laughing as they crossed the parking lot.

“That was such a good one, man,” Fangs chuckled, running his hand through his hair.  Like his friend, he was adorned in an all-green outfit: green jeans, a green t-shirt, and a green flannel.

“So where to next?” Sweet Pea asked. “I think we got everyone we could at the Wyrm.”

“Not to mention Toni will absolutely throw a beer at us if we go back in there.”

“Well, we could always—wait, there!” Sweet Pea pointed at someone climbing off their bike in the drug store parking lot. “That guy doesn’t have any green on.”

“Good catch—he doesn’t look like a Ghoulie, either.” Fangs looked up at his friend, biting back a smirk.

“Dude, I had no idea that chick was a Ghoulie—how was I supposed to know I’d have like a dozen drugged-up guys chasing me for one harmless little pinch.”

“One harmless pinch?  Pea, you pinched her—”

“Quick, duck!” Sweet Pea yanked Fangs behind a bush—the man was coming toward them now.  Neither had seen his face, but his coat was plain black leather, not gang affiliated.

“You want to go in for the pinch or should I?” Fangs asked dropping his voice to a whisper.

Sweet Pea’s face lit up in an excited grin. “I say we go for the double.”

“The double?” Fangs eyebrows shot up his forehead. “That’s a big move—you really think we’re ready?”

“I know we are, man.” Sweet Pea took a deep breath. “This is the moment we’ve been preparing for.  We’ve been waiting all day for this opportunity, and it’s time to take it.”

Fangs inhaled, his eyes drifting shut.  For a moment, he stayed like that, crouched behind the bush, thinking it over.  Then, he opened his eyes and exhaled hard. “You’re right—we _need_ to do this.”

“Glad you’re on board, man,” Sweet Pea laughed, slapping his shoulder. “Ready?”

Fangs glanced around the bush, checking how close the man was. “Ready.”

“Alright, then.” Sweet Pea grinned. “Let’s do it.”

Both boys crept the edge of the book, preparing to leap out to attack their target.  Silently, Sweet Pea counted down with his fingers.  He held Fangs gaze as he mouthed the word, _Go._

They exploded out of the bush, pinching fingers ready.  Pinching him in perfect unison, they both erupted into amused laughter.

“Nice one, man!”

“For real—”

“What the hell are you boys doing?”

They both froze, their hearts stopping.  They knew that voice.

FP turned around, his face twisted in fury. “Did you two idiots really just hide in a bush to pinch me?”

“I—um—no?” Fangs said, slowly creeping behind Sweet Pea.

“We would never,” Sweet Pea added.  He grabbed at Fangs, yanking him out in front of him as FP stalked toward them. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Fangs slapped away Sweet Pea’s hands, tripping over his feet in an attempt to escape.

“I swear to God, I’m gonna—”

“RUN!” Sweet Pea bellowed, abandoning Fangs as he took off in the opposite direction. “RUN, MAN, RUN!”

Fangs took off, glancing over his shoulder to see FP giving them a confused look. “Where to next?”

“Pop’s!  None of the staff will be wearing green!”


	3. "You can rub me for luck."

Laughing, you took the pitcher of green beer from the bar, sliding Hog Eye a few singles gratefully.  Then, you made your way through the crowded bar back to the pool tables where Sweet Pea and Fangs were destroying yet another pair of drunk Northsiders at pool.  You slid back into place next to Sweet Pea, kissing him lightly on the neck just before he made a shot.

He jerked with surprise, his grip on the cue faltering as he missed the shot entirely. “Babe, keep doing shit like that, and Fangs and I are going to lose.”

Fangs scoffed, nearly knocking the massive green and gold leprechaun hat he was wearing off his head. “As if, man.  You may suck as soon as you’re distracted by a pretty girl, but I carry this team anyways.”

Sweet Pea gave him a dark look, a gesture rendered somewhat ineffective by the fact that he was, like Fangs, wearing a massive green and gold leprechaun hat.

“Aw, come on, Sweets,” you murmured, pressing your lips lightly into his neck. “I thought I was your good luck charm.”

He picked up his cup and refilled it with beer, his gaze flicking over you.  Like the boys, you were dressed in your St. Patrick’s Day best, in this case, bright green shorts and a four-leaf clover tank top that were entirely weather-inappropriate. “Oh, are you now?”

You took a sip of your own beer, taking a step closer to him so that your chests were nearly pressed together. **“Mhm, you can even rub me for luck.”**

A loan groan escaped his throat, and he grabbed your hips to pull you in close. “You don’t know how badly I want to, beautiful.”

“Excuse me,” Fangs interrupted, his eyebrows furrowing together. “Can you guys maybe not fuck at the pool table today?”

“What the hell are you implying by _today_ , Fogarty?” you laughed, pulling away slightly from Sweet Pea.

“You know damn well what I’m implying,” he said, giving you both a firm look. “Now, Sweet Pea, it’s your shot.”

Reluctantly, Sweet Pea let go of you, setting down his drink to pick up his cue.  He made the shot quickly, earning a cheer from Fangs.  As he walked around the table to line up the next one, he winked at you. “Maybe you are my good luck charm.”

“Told you so.” You took another sip of your drink to cover your smirk.  The rest of the game went by quickly, Sweet Pea and Fangs making the shots easily so that they could once again collect their winnings.

Sweet Pea was back at your side in an instant. “I think I might need to rub you a little bit more before our next game, princess,” he murmured, his voice low as his lips pressed into your neck.  He nipped slightly, sucking hard at the sensitive skin.

“Sweet Pea!” you laughed, fighting back a needy moan. “We’re still in public!”

“Okay fine.” He smirked, running his hand through your hair and holding your hips tight against his. “What do they say on St. Patrick’s Day?  **Kiss me, I’m Irish….or drunk….or whatever.** ”

You rolled your eyes and stood up on your tiptoes to kiss him.  He deepened the kiss, running his hands down your sides to your lower back to hold you against him.  Your eyes drifted shut and you smiled through the kiss.

“ _Ahem_ ,” Fangs interrupted. “What did I say about fucking on the pool table?”

Sweet Pea pulled away from you with a smirk to look over at his friend. “You’re jealous you don’t get to?”

Rolling your eyes, you kissed him again, absolutely sure that you’d be staying late after closing.


	4. Luck of the Irish

Hands stuffed in his pockets, Sweet Pea had his head down against the biting wind as he walked back from the Whyte Wyrm.  It was an unseasonably cold day for Riverdale in March, and he wanted nothing more than to get home and crawl into bed after a long night of bartending.

He'd need the rest, after all.  Tomorrow was St. Patrick’s Day, and he was planning to work a double shift.

_Better dig out that idiotic green leprechaun outfit before I go to bed_ , he thought to himself.  Hog Eye had never been one for holiday celebrations, but St. Patrick’s Day was different—all he needed was every random drunk girl to come at him with pinchy fingers because he forgot to wear green again.  His ass had been bruised badly enough last year.

Something on the dark sidewalk caught his eye—a glint of gold.  He jerked to a stop, bending down to look at it.  A coin, an old-fashioned-looking gold coin.  There was some kind of writing on it, too, but it was nothing Sweet Pea recognized.  With a shrug, he pocketed it and kept walking.

* * *

 

Sweet Pea woke up with a yawn stretching his arms above his head and hitting them against the headboard sleepily.   His eyes barely open, he rolled out of bed and slumped into the bathroom, running his hand through his messy hair.  When he got to the bathroom, he looked in the mirror, and his eyes shot open.

“What the—”

He ran his hand through his hair again—it felt perfectly normal—the same hair he’d had all his life.  Something was off about it, though.  The color, it was—it was lighter, redder almost. 

And then he noticed something else.  The whole mirror seemed off, like the angle was wrong or something.  It was impossible, though.  It couldn’t be true—he couldn’t be _shorter_.

He shook it off, deciding that it must just be exhaustion.  Instead of dwelling on it any longer, he just got in the shower.

* * *

 

As always, Sweet Pea was one of the first guys to walk into the Wyrm.  He still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, though.  His pants had felt a little too long that morning, and he could have sworn they were a little too short, too.  That didn’t make any sense, though—that was impossible.

Toni and Fangs were already there when he got there.

“Hey, man,” Fangs said, greeting him with a punch to the shoulder.  His eyes narrowed. “Are you doing okay, man?”

“What do you mean?” Sweet Pea snapped, the frustration of the morning ready to explode out of him.

“You just—you look kind of _off_.”

Toni nodded, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “He’s right, Pea.  You look—” she cut off, her eyes narrowing further as she inspected him. “Sweet Pea, are you shorter?”

“What on earth are you talking about, Topaz?” Sweet Pea muttered, pushing through his friends to get to the bar. “People don’t just get shorter.”

The lights over the bar caught his hair, and Fangs and Toni swore in unison.

Sweet Pea’s hands clenched into fists. “What the hell are you two looking at?”

“I—um—” Fangs sputtered, making some kind of indistinguishable gesture with his hands. “Your—um—”

Toni’s eyes were wide, and her lips moved wordlessly.  Then, she managed to make sound come out. “Sweet Pea, your hair’s turning orange.”

“What are you—” he cut off, catching a glance of himself in one of the beer mirrors decorating the opposite wall. “What the hell?” his mind racing, Sweet Pea took off toward the bathroom, nearly vaulting over the bar as he hurried across the bar.  He slid into the bathroom, letting the door slam behind him so he could gape at the mirror.

His hair was turning orange, and he was absolutely getting shorter.  Even on his tiptoes, he couldn’t reach the top of the mirror.  And on top of that, his ears—

“Holy shit,” Fangs breathed as he and Toni crammed themselves into the bathroom. “You’re—”

“I’m turning into Archie fucking Andrews!” Sweet Pea exploded, slamming his fists into the sink.

“Sweet Pea, that’s not—this isn’t—this can’t be possible, okay?” Toni said, running her hand through her hair with exasperation. “This isn’t possible.”

“Or is it!” Fangs eyes lit up. “What day is it today, guys?”

“Um, Sunday?” Sweet Pea gave him a skeptical look.

“No, what date?” Fangs asked firmly, giving both of them a hard look.

“March 17th,” Toni said, already shaking her head. “Fangs, that’s not—”

“St. Patrick’s Day,” Fangs said, cutting her off. “And you know what that means?  Leprechauns.  Sweet Pea is turning into a leprechaun.”

Sweet Pea and Toni turned to him, each giving him an unimpressed look.

“That’s bullshit, Fangs.” Sweet Pea crossed his arms over his chest. “Leprechauns aren’t real.”

Fangs gestured at him, lifting his eyebrows. “You sure, man?  Because I don’t think you’re turning into Archie Andrews.”

Sweet Pea looked back at the mirror.  Almost all of his hair was red now, and his ears were distinctly pointy.  He traced his fingers over the ears, his face twisting in disturbed confusion as he felt the slight point.  Then, a thought struck him, and his hand dropped. “The coin.”

“The coin?” Toni asked. “What coin?”

Sweet Pea fished around in his pocket, grateful for once that he forgot to wash the jeans the night before.  The coin was still there, so he pulled it out and showed them. “This coin.  I found it on the ground last night while I was walking back from the bar.  I didn’t—” his voice cut off with a crack, and the next words came out at a distinctly higher pitch. “I didn’t think anything of it.”

“Sweet Pea…” Toni said softly. “Your voice….”

“I heard it!” He snapped, his eyes widening with fear. “We need to fix this, now.”

* * *

 

“How the fuck are we going to fix this?” Sweet Pea muttered.  The three of them were re-tracing Sweet Pea’s steps from the night before, looking for anything that might help them figure it out.  In the time they’d been walking, the sky had gone dark, and it was pouring rain. Luckily, Sweet Pea already had his hood up to hide his hair and ears. “I’m being turned into a magical creature because I found a goddamn magical coin.”

“Maybe you can just get rid of it,” Fangs suggested, shaking the water out of his hair. “Toss it down the sewer drain or something.”

“Maybe,” Toni said, her tone wary, “but what if that doesn’t work, and you need it for some reason—then you’d just have to track it down all over again.”

“Well, what else can we do?” Sweet Pea pulled to a stop, shaking his head miserably. “There’s nothing here that shows any sign of where it came from, and I’m getting shorter and more Irish by the second!” His eyes widened, and he yanked off his hood for effect as the rain slowed down. “I’m craving fucking cabbage and corned beef for Christ’s sake!”

Suddenly, Fangs eyes widened, and he pointed excitedly behind Sweet Pea. “Look!”

Toni’s eyes widened to match Fangs’. “Oh my God, you’re right!  Sweet Pea, look!”

Trying not to roll his eyes, Sweet Pea turned around. “What?”

“It’s a rainbow, dumbass,” Fangs said. “And what’s at the end of t a rainbow?”

“I swear to God, Fangs, if you’re going to say—”

“A pot of gold!  Let’s go!” Fangs grabbed his friends’ arms and took off at a run. “We’re going to find this leprechaun!”

* * *

 

“Fangs, this is ridiculous,” Toni panted, grabbing her side as she leaned against a lamp post. “The ends of rainbows don’t exist—they’re just—”

“I swear to God, Topaz, if you say one more word about refraction and water, I’m going to—”

“Both of you, shut up!” Fangs snapped, catching his breath. “Look!”

Sweet Pea sighed and looked up. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

The building in front of them had a faded green sign with chipped gold lettering: _Pot o’ Gold Diner._

“How have we never seen this place before?” Toni asked, drifting toward the building. “It looks pretty old.”

“I bet it only shows up when there’s a rainbow,” Fangs suggested, picking up his pace. “I mean, Leprechaun magic and all.”

Sweet Pea just rolled his eyes, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Let’s just finish this thing.” His hair was fully red now, shockingly close to the color of Archie’s hair.  Unlike Archie, though, he had pointy ears and was now a few inches shorter than Fangs.  All his clothes were nearly hanging off him, and his voice was getting squeakier by the second.

Sweet Pea burst into the diner, and his jaw dropped.  Everyone in the diner, from the waitress behind the bar to the patrons scattered around the space, had bright red hair, pointy ears, and were no more than a few feet tall.  All of them were wearing bright green.

“And there’s the bastard that stole me lucky coin!” A particularly portly man with a head of bright red curls bustled toward him. “Looks like you’re feeling the effects.”

Sweet Pea started down at the man, too stunned for words.  He was wearing a three-piece suit, and everything on his body, from his tiny shoes to his tailcoat, were shades of green.  He wore a bright gold pocket watch, and atop his head was a tiny green bowler hat.

“Are you—” Sweet Pea lost the words.

“A leprechaun?” The little man chortled. “Wouldn’t you like to know, boy-o?  Now, where’ve you got me lucky coin?”

Dumbly, Sweet Pea pulled the coin out of his pocket, handing it over to the man. “Will I go back to normal now?”

“Sure will, boy-o.” The man winked, flipping the coin in the air before returning it to his pocket. “Happy St. Patrick’s Day.”

“Happy St. Patrick’s Day…” Sweet Pea replied unsurely.  Slowly, he made his way out of the diner, blinking confusedly when he saw his friend waiting for him. “Why didn’t you guys come in with me?”

“We couldn’t,” Toni said, the confusion evident on her features. “We tried, but the door wouldn’t open for us.”

Sweet Pea looked down at himself to see that his clothes already fit better again.  “How’s my hair look?”

“Less red, for sure,” Fangs said, still giving his friend a skeptical look. “What the hell happened in there?”

Sweet Pea tried to answer, but then he realized that he couldn’t find the words—no matter how hard he wracked his mind, he couldn’t remember. “I don’t know,” he admitted.”

Toni was shaking her head, massaging her temples. “And what are we even doing here?”

The three of them looked around, seeing nothing but an empty parking lot next to a boarded-up building that might have been a restaurant at some point in time.  Everything was damp and cold, and all of their heads hurt.

“Let’s just get to the bar, guys,” Sweet Pea said, shaking his head. “I need a beer.”

“Me, too,” Toni agreed, shoving her hands in her pockets as she started walking.

Fangs couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something he was forgetting.  He glanced around, checking the ground to see if there was something he missed.  He paused, his eyes catching on a glint of gold.

“What the—”

Fangs bent down and picked it up—a gold coin, with unfamiliar markings.  With a shrug, he put it in his pocket.


	5. "But I am wearing green!"

Smirking, Fangs reached out in front of him, trying to bite back a giggle.  Just before he was able to pinch the exposed skin of Jubilee’s hip, though, the turned, slapping him away.

“What the hell, Fangs?” she snapped. “What are you doing?”

“Pinching you!” he replied indignantly, pulling himself back up to his full height. “You’re not wearing any green, Jones.”

Jubilee sighed, setting down her drink on the top of the bar. **“But Fangs, I _am_ wearing green.” **

He gave her a skeptical look.  The Whyte Wyrm was entirely packed with people, and all of them were wearing green.  Even Jughead had pinned a sparkly shamrock to his beanie.  Jubilee, though, was wearing one of her usual outfits—dark jeans, a sweater, and a leather coat—none of which was green. 

Next to them, Sweet Pea sighed tiredly, dragging his gaze away from the TV behind the bar. “She is wearing green, Fangs.”

“What?  No, she’s not!  Unless I’m suddenly colorblind, it’s pretty damn clear to me that—” His voice faltered, and suddenly the skeptical looks Sweet Pea and Jubilee were giving him made sense. “Oh, I see.  The green is—” He cleared his throat. “An underlayer?”

She rolled her eyes, biting back a chuckle. “Sure is, Fangs.”

“Well then.” Fangs held her gaze, taking a sip of his own drink, trying to pull himself up to his full height. “I want proof.”

“Proof?” Jubilee’s eyebrows rose. “You want to see proof that I’m wearing green underwear.”

“I sure do,” Fangs replied promptly. “I can’t trust that you’re not lying to me without proof.”

“Oh,” Jubilee said, climbing off her barstool. “I see—I suppose that makes sense.  You deserve that kind of proof, Fangs.” She shrugged off her coat, tossing it over the back of her chair. “And since I have on a green bra and panties, I suppose I need to take off all of my clothes right here, don’t I?”

“Wait, I—”

She had unbuckled her belt, tossing it on top of the discarded coat.  Next, her hands moved to the button of her jeans, and Fangs sputtered out an objection.

“Wait, stop!”

“Stop?” She gave him an innocent look, cocking her head.  “But, Fangs, you need proof.”

Fangs glanced at Sweet Pea—his grip had tightened on his beer bottle, and his knuckles were starting to turn white.  He was giving Fangs a look that Fangs knew would only lead to pain.

“I don’t need proof,” he admitted, shaking his head. “Please, Jubilee, do _not_ take your clothes off in the middle of the Whyte Wyrm.”

She smirked, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she picked her belt back up and slipped it on. “Thought not.”

Sweet Pea just rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the TV as his grip loosened on the beer bottle. “You’re walking a fine line, Fogarty.”

“As if I haven’t seen Jubilee naked before,” Fangs scoffed, grabbing a beer from the bar and sitting down next to them. “I mean, it’s not like you guys are great at locking doors.”

“You’re the one who never fucking knocks!” Sweet Pea spat, about to leap off the seat.

Fangs tossed his hands in the air, trying not to shout. “And that’s not likely to change, so you guys may as well get better at locking the door!”

From the pool tables, Jughead had heard the whole interaction, and like Sweet Pea, he had been about ready to clock Fangs when Jubilee started taking her belt off.  Silently, he crept around the bar, ducking into the crowd to hide himself from their view.

The three of them were still arguing, and it wasn’t hard for Jughead to slip through the masses of people to sneak into the space next to them undetected.  Jubilee was on her feet again, and he wasn’t sure if she was yelling at Sweet Pea or Fangs.  It didn’t matter for what he was about to do though.

His lips curved into a mischievous grin, and everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as his hand shot out toward her.  It was the perfect pinch—directly on her exposed hip, hard enough to make her jump with surprise.

“What the— _Jughead?”_ she shouted. “What the hell?  Where did you even come from?”

Jughead was laughing too hard to answer.  All he could do was clutch his sides.

“I was wearing green, you idiot!”

“Well, I can’t see it,” he countered. “And before you say another word—no, I do _not_ want proof!”

Jubilee’s lips pressed into a tight line, her dark eyes fixed harshly on her brother.  Like a flash, her hand shot out, knocking his beanie off his head and sending it flying across the room.  Then her hand was on his shoulder, pinching hard just above his collar.

“ _OW!_ Jubilee, what the hell?” he snapped, slapping her hand away. “I was wearing green!”

“Well, I can’t see it,” she replied, mimicking his lower voice.

Sweet Pea burst out in laughter, nearly spitting out his beer.  Both Jughead and Jubilee turned to glare at him, their matching expressions of fury shutting him up in a heartbeat.  He swallowed hard. “Hey, guys, can’t we all just be friends?”

Suddenly, there were two very angry Jones’ rushing toward Sweet Pea, pinching fingers at the ready.  He flew off the barstool, shoving Fangs between him and his assailants.  He muttered to himself as he ran. “This is the worst holiday ever.”


	6. "Why exactly do you need to find four-leaf clovers at 2AM?

Sweet Pea woke up to the sound of banging on his door.  He flew into action, sliding out of bed and grabbing his pocketknife.  Within seconds, he was at the door, weapon at the ready.  Then, the banging started again, this time with shouting.

“Open the door, Sweet Pea, it’s important!”

_Jughead Jones._  With a groan, Sweet Pea pocketed his knife and unlocked the door.  As soon as he pulled it open, Jughead was rushing in, a frenzied look on his face.

“What can I help you with, Jughead?” Sweet Pea asked sleepily.  Blinking away his exhaustion, he glanced at the clock on the microwave.  It was two in the morning, and whatever it was, he wanted nothing to do with it.

“I need your help with something,” he said, a little breathless. “Something important.”

“You’ve mentioned,” Sweet Pea said boredly.  He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “What is it?”

“Four-leaf clovers,” Jughead said, finally catching his breath and giving Sweet Pea a steady look. “I need to find a four-leaf clover—as many as I can, really.”

Sweet Pea’s eyes narrowed, and he shook his head confusedly. **“Why exactly do you need to find four-leaf clovers at 2AM?”**

“Well, um, you see—”

“Does this have anything to do with the dance next week.”

Jughead’s cheeks flushed red, and he stammered out a reply. “Maybe.”

Sweet Pea sighed, uncrossing his arms and flopping onto the couch. “Elaborate.”

“Well, you see, you know I’ve been wanting to ask out Betty for a while now, and I think this is the perfect opportunity to do it.” He looked down at his friend with a small smile. “But, I—um—”

“You’re afraid she won’t say yes?” Sweet Pea asked, confused. “Why would you think that?”

“Look, it doesn’t matter why!” Jughead exclaimed, grabbing at his beanie anxiously. “All that matters is that I’m kind of nervous, and I could use all the luck I can get.  Tomorrow’s St. Patrick’s Day, so what better time to go find some four-leaf clovers for a little extra luck?”

“Tomorrow?” Sweet Pea glanced at the clock. “You mean today?”

Jughead tossed his hands in the air with exasperation. “Are you going to help me or not, Sweet Pea?”

Sweet Pea sighed, his shoulders heaving. “Fine, I’ll help you.  Just give me a few minutes to get dressed.”

* * *

 

The grass was cold and damp beneath Jughead’s knees.  He and Sweet Pea had been scouring the park for hours, searching every inch of earth for a four-leaf clover.  Each of them was equipped with nothing but a flashlight and a ziplock baggie in case one appeared.

“Any luck yet?” Sweet Pea asked, shifting his flashlight so that he was holding it against his body with his elbow. “Cause I’ve got absolutely nothing over here.”

“No, still nothing,” Jughead sighed.  He bit back a yawn, his vision starting to blur with the lack of sleep. “Lots of normal three-leaf ones, but those are useless.”

“Same here.” With a groan, Sweet Pea rolled over, flopping back on the wet grass. “Why are you so caught up on this, man?  Do you really need luck to ask Betty to the dance?  I mean, even if it weren’t obvious that she’s just as into you as you’re into her, you’re a—” His voice caught, and he made a face like the words tasted bad. “You’re a _charming_ enough guy.”

Jughead barked out a laugh, rolling over to lie on the grass with Sweet Pea. “Sweet Pea, did you just call me a charming enough guy?”

“Nope,” he replied, pulling his phone out of the pocket to check the time. “I surely did not.”

He rolled his eyes, smiling slightly. “Alright, Sweet Pea, whatever you say.” Jughead absentmindedly pulled up fistfuls of grass, looking up at the stars as he fought to keep his eyes open.  Both boys were silent for a moment, just watching the stars and the few wispy clouds drifting across the moonlit sky.

Then, Jughead broke the silence. “So, you really think I don’t need the extra luck.”

“Nah,” Sweet Pa yawned heavily. “But I do think we need to get our asses to bed before the sun rises.”

“You’re probably right,” Jughead agreed.  With another long yawn, he pushed himself up on his elbows, not even caring how wet the grass had made him.

“Damn, dude, you sure did a number on the grass,” Sweet Pea observed, hauling himself to his feet.  With one hand, he reached down to help Jughead up.  Jughead didn’t take his hand, though.  Instead, he was staring at the little pile of grass he had yanked up.

“Sweet Pea, is that—”

Sweet Pea’s eyes narrowed, and he looked down at the pile of dirt, grass, and leaves. “No fucking way.”

Sitting at the top of the pile, perfectly plucked from the ground, was a four-leaf clover.  With a wide grin, Jughead picked it up, cradling it almost delicately. “I can’t believe it.”

Shaking his head, Sweet Pea’s lips curved into an amused grin. “Looks like you just might get lucky after all, Jones.”

* * *

 

With his lucky clover stashed in the pocket of his flannel shirt, Jughead strode into Pop’s.  He and Betty had been planning to meet to work on the Blue & Gold, but he had other plans.  She was already there when he got there, and she had already ordered his usual.

“Hey, Betts,” he said, hoping his voice wasn’t shaking along with his beating heart. “How’s it going?”

“Really good!” She smiled brightly as she looked up at him.  She had on a shamrock sweater that made her eyes look greener than usual. “Happy St. Patrick’s Day, by the way.”

“You, too.” He sat down across from her, taking a steadying breath.  With a shaky hand, he picked up a fry and popped it into his mouth. “Hey, Betty, there’s, um, something I wanted to ask you.”

Betty’s lips curved into a soft grin, and she seemed to be biting back a wider smile. “Of course, Jug.  What’s up?”

“Would you maybe want to—” He took a deep breath, and the rest of his words rushed out in a stream. “Go to the dance with me next week?”

Her smile widened, and she was nodding before he even finished the question. “Absolutely, Juggie.  I would love to.”

Jughead’s face broke into an excited grin. “Really?”

“Of course, really,” she laughed.  She reached across the table and took his hand in hers. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”

With one hand, he fingered at the pocket of his shirt, feeling the outline of the little clover hiding within. “I guess it’s my lucky day.”


	7. “I can’t believe I’m sitting in leprechaun jail…and with you of all people.”

Fangs woke up to bright lights and pain.  Every part of his body was screaming with pain, and his throat was so dry it hurt.  He dragged his eyes open, and everything was blurry.  Everything was also really cold, and the bed underneath him was hard and scratchy.

“Well, good morning, sunshine,” you chirped, running your hand through his messy hair. “Glad to see you’re alive.”

He blinked hard, trying to sit up, but he was overwhelmed with familiar nausea. “What happened?  Where are we?”

“One question at a time, champ,” you laughed, helping him upright. “And drink some of this.”

You pressed a glass of water into his hand and he drank greedily.  Then, after a few more groggy blinks, he managed to get his eyes open to scan the room around you.  The room was small, mostly cement, and one wall was all bars.   _Jail?_   And you weren’t alone, either.  In addition to you and Fangs, who were squeezed together on one tiny bunk, the room was filled with an assortment of people in sloppy green costumes.

 “Are we—” Fangs cut off, the words too ridiculous to be true. “Are we in jail?”

“We sure are,” you replied, significantly less hungover than him. “And it’s all thanks to you.”

“To me?” His eyes widened in surprise, and he sat up more fully to look around. **“What the hell happened last night?”**

**“Should I start with the keg stand or when you tried to start a fight with a guy in a leprechaun costume?”**

**“Oh God, neither.”** He shook his head, rubbing hard at his temples. “How the hell could that have happened?  The last thing I remember was being at the Wyrm—we were drinking, playing pool.  Everyone was pinching Sweet Pea because he refused to wear green…” He paused, wracking his mind. “And then you bet me…what the hell did you bet me?”

The memory made you cringe.  You may not have been as drunk as Fangs the night before, but you had definitely been drunk. “I believe it was that I could do a keg stand longer than you.”

His eyes widened, and then he started laughing. “Oh man, you’ve got to be kidding me. _You_ bet _me_ that you could do a keg stand longer?  You do know who I am, right?”

You rolled your eyes, burying your face in his shoulder as you laughed to hide your blush.  You and Fangs had been friends for almost as long as you could remember, but it hadn’t been until recently that you had both taken the drunken flirting to a new level.

Everyone had noticed: Toni, Sweet Pea, Jughead, and all of them had made at least a few sly remarks about how the two of you should just go for it already.

“Look, Fangs, it wasn’t a good night for either of us, okay?”

He smirked, lifting your chin to force you to look at him. “You sure about that?  I feel like any night that ends with me waking up next to you had to be a good one.”

Your heart pounded so hard you were sure he could hear it, and your face was burning. “Fangs, what—”

His smile softened, and he let his hand drop from your face to your hip, holding you close to him. “C’mon, please don’t tell me that it’s just me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your voice had dropped to a near-whisper, a sure sign that you were lying.

His dark eyes were fixed on yours, radiating some emotion that you couldn’t quite read.  Before you had a chance to say anything else, though, one of your cellmates spoke up.

“Eh, lovebirds,” he slurred, clearly still drunk from the night before.  The man couldn’t have been much older than you, but he was wearing nothing but green boxers, suspenders, and a leprechaun hat, and the look did nothing for him. “Mind sharing the bunk with someone who’s actually gonna sleep on it?”

Laughing awkwardly, the two of you hopped off, moving to a bench with the rest of the hungover revelers.  Next to you was a woman dressed in a gold morph suit with a what appeared to be a papier-mâché pot strapped to her hips.  She had on a sparkly rainbow headband that was irreparably crooked.

On the other side, next to Fangs, was a man in a full-blown leprechaun costume—green suit, terrible fake red bed, and a green top hat.  He was also barefoot, but you suspected that wasn’t how he started the night. 

You sighed, resting your head against Fangs’ shoulder. **“I can’t believe I’m sitting in leprechaun jail…and with you of all people.”**

“Of all people?” he asked indignantly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re right, you’re right,” you laughed, sitting back up to look at him. “If I have to be trapped in leprechaun jail, I guess I’m glad it’s with you.”

He smirked, cupping your face softly.  Everything else faded into nothing as he stared at you—it was like everything else disappeared.  Your stomach erupted in butterflies, and you could practically feel his lips on yours. “You know, I—”

“Ah, there they are.”

You both groaned when you heard the voice.  Sweet Pea.

“My two little delinquents—I hoped you enjoyed your stay, but it’s time to head home.” He looked between the two of you, and then his grin widened. “Oh, don’t tell me I interrupted something.”

You and Fangs got up, stepping around a passed-out shamrock on the ground and following him out of the cell. You noticed that Fangs’ arm hadn’t left your waist.  You got bags of your stuff back, and then you were free.  Sweet Pea was already in the truck, so Fangs pulled you to a stop.

“Hey, about before, I—”

You didn’t let him finish.  Instead, you grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling yourself close for a kiss.  His lips met yours eagerly, and before you were even fully aware of what was happening, you were kissing.  He held your body tight against his, drowning you in the feeling of his touch.  Finally, you broke away, breathless.

“Hey, Fangs?”

“Yeah?” He smiled widely, his breathing heavy.

“Let’s not wait until we get arrested to kiss again, okay?

“Okay.” With that, he pulled you in for another kiss, ignoring Sweet Pea’s shouts in the background.


	8. "On St. Patrick's Day, I pretend to be Irish, just like on Christmas I pretend to be good."

With a cheer, Reggie slammed another empty shot glass into the bar.  Rolling her eyes, Lydia set hers down more gently.  She had no idea what was all in the shot, only that is was bright green and burned on the way down.  They were also only a dollar per shot, meaning that Reggie was passing them out like candy.

Lydia chased the shot with a sip of cheap beer, cringing when the flavors mixed.

“How’re you doing, angel?” Reggie asked, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing a kiss onto the top of her head. “Still feeling alright?”

“Course I am, Reg,” she replied, turning around to smile at him.  Like her, he was dressed in all green.  Unlike her, though, he looked absolutely ridiculous.  While Lydia had gone with a green shirt and a shamrock headband Reggie had gone out in his usual green pants, suspenders, bow tie, and top hat.

St. Patrick’s Day had always been one of Reggie’s favorite holidays—not only was it the perfect excuse to day drink, but it was also the perfect excuse to annoy people.

As if on cue, Reggie’s hand shot out, nabbing Sweet Pea with yet another pinch.

“Mantle, I swear to God, I’m going to—”

Laughing, Reggie ducked behind Lydia, using her as a human shield against the taller man.  Sweet Pea’s fists loosened, and he just shook his head angrily.

“You’re lucky I like her better than you, Mantle.”

“Aw, thanks Sweet Pea,” Lydia laughed. “Even if it doesn’t mean much that you like me better than this guy.” She shoved her boyfriend slightly, and he grabbed her tightly by the waist.

“Rude,” Reggie murmured, pressing his lips into the back of her neck. “Sweet Pea likes me very much, thank you.”

“Oh good,” Sweet Pea sighed. “He’s drunk.”

Lydia gave him a skeptical look. “Aren’t you drunk, too?  We’ve been here like four hours.”

“Irrelevant.” Sweet Pea winked and set off back toward the bar.

At that, Reggie spun Lydia around again, holding her tight against him. “Have I ever mentioned that you look really good in green?” he asked, running his fingertips through her messy curls.

“Once or twice,” she laughed.  Biting her lip, she looked at him more closely.  Even though he’d been shirtless all night, this was the first time she’s really had a chance to stare him.  Somehow, Reggie Mantle had the power to make even a stupid sexy leprechaun costume look good.

“My eyes are up here, gorgeous,” he murmured, cupping her jaw to guide his mouth to his for a kiss.

She pulled back with a smirk. “Woah there, slow down, Reg.  I thought you weren’t allowed to kiss someone who wasn’t Irish on St. Patrick’s Day.”

“But, babe, I am Irish,” he whined, sticking his lower lip out in a pout.

Lydia laughed, dragging her hands down his chest, gripping the suspenders and flicking them back into his skin with a _snap_. “You are not even a little Irish, Reggie.”

“What?” His eyes widened, and he started shaking his head. “Lydia, no, no, no, you’re missing the point.”

“And what’s the point?”

He smirked, giving her that look that always signaled that there was a bad joke incoming.  Then, he bit his lip, giving her a sultry look. **“On St. Patrick’s Day, I pretend to be Irish, just like on Christmas I pretend to be good.”**

Lydia burst out in laughter, resting her forehead on his shoulder. “Reggie, you are so full of shit.”

“What can I say, babe?” His voice lowered, and he pulled her in even closer, pressing their hips together. “Why would I ever want to be on the nice list when I can be on the _naughty_ list.”

She rolled her eyes, running her hand through his hair and gripping his shoulders to pull herself to his height. “Alright then, so for today, you’re Irish.”

“In that case…” He leaned in close, his lips just inches away from hers. “Kiss me, I’m Irish.”

Letting her eyes drift shut, Lydia kissed him, their bodies melting together comfortably in the dim light of the bar.  “You’re such an idiot, Reg,” she murmured, not pulling her lips all the way off of his.

“But I’m _your_ idiot.”

“Sure are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed this, be sure to leave a comment and check out my other works!


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